Middle Aged Spread

I don't have middle aged spread around my middle; well, not much. But I do have middle aged spread  at the tips of my fingers, quite liderally.
For the past few days I have been suffering dreadfully from fat finger syndrome, mis-spelling texts to such a degree that I've been shooting off all sorts of obscenities completely unintentionally.
Luckily, I don't do online banking (because everyone I know who does it regularly loses money from their accounts) so I haven't accidentally paid thousands of pounds to an electricity company, for instance. The obscenity thing is worrying enough; what is more worrying is the fat fingers, though.
Just how fat will they get, and will I still be able to ease them on to the strings of my guitar?
Will I be pressing multiple doorbells when visiting pals who live in flats, or confusing the lift at work, which won't be able to tell which floor I'm aiming at?
Condemned to walk up the stairs forever nursing my chubby digits, the additional exercise will ensure that I'll remain free of middle-aged spread around my middle, but I have resigned myself to a destiny of constantly having my hands picked up in error at the supermarket as they are mistaken for a packet of Wall's Porkinson Bangers.